Before the ritual, Russ had formulated his question carefully. He could not ask how to beat Horus, because he knew that was impossible. Similar questions would lead to similar results.

'You're wondering how you can beat Horus. You can't,' said the false Russ; reading his thoughts, or perhaps their thoughts were the same conceived simultaneously.

'That is not my question,' said Russ.

'Then speak the one that is.' The false Russ looked upwards at the sky. 'Time passes strangely here. You cannot afford to delay.'

Russ lifted his arm and pointed to the weapon impaling the earth. 'The spear. How can it aid me in beating my brother, Horus the fallen one, arch traitor and destroyer of my father's dream?'

'Are you sure it can?; said the false Russ with a mocking smile.

'It is a wyrd weapon, bound to me and I to it though I wish it were not so. I grasp it and dream darkly. I leave it behind me and it finds me wherever I am. Gifts from the Emperor have two edges that cut both ways. There must be a purpose to it or it would not be here. He would not have given it to me if there were no reason for it It is the key to all of this.'

'That weapon could be a projection, a false hope, a lie in this den of lies. You could have thrown away your chance to win. You could have asked the wrong question.'

'I do not think I have,' said Russ. 'And if I have, then that is my wyrd. Tell me of the spear.'

'So be it.'

The false Russ held up his arm. The spear shot out of the snow and into his outstretched hand with the slap of metal on flesh. Although it lacked the snarling wolf mount and the knotwork on the blade, and was altogether more sober in decoration than Russ' version of the spear, he was in no doubt that it was the same weapon in different guise Its golden blade shone with the same light. Its body emitted the same sensation of unease.

The false Russ brandished the spear above his head and shouted:

'I am the spear that sways, Gungnir am I!' His voice boomed. The spear blazed with light at the calling of its name. He stared triumphantly into Russ' eyes. 'An old name borrowed from an old god whose world was not so different to yours. This is the spear that cannot miss, that drives forever at the truth of things. It is the Wolfsbane. This spear was made by the Allfather. A portion of His might was beaten into its blade.'

'It has His strength?'